A/N: Here's the third chapter! Now look here, anyone who has gotten this far, please review. Because it feels slightly pointless to put this up if we can't get any response at all. Constructive criticism would be great – or just one sentence telling us you've read this! If you think it's just average then say so! Please?

3. – The Testimony

In which Ron goes to a place he doesn't want to go to, meets someone he doesn't want to meet and hears something he doesn't want to hear.

"What do you mean, you lent it to her?" Ron yelled.

The wizard behind the desk mumbled something, and ran a hand through his hair.

"How could you? How? Honestly, you people are so…" he trailed off, not being able to come up with something vile enough. He felt so angry, he almost choked. After taking a few deep breaths, he resumed his yelling.

"No wonder people still haven't come out of hiding! No wonder people are still getting murdered right under your noses!"

"Well –well, I-I didn't give it to her," the poor man stuttered. Ron ignored him.

"It's people like you who make sure people like him and his friends can still go around killing people in broad daylight –"

"I thought that happened at night-"

"SHUT UP! You're insane! You're all insane! Why didn't you lock him up properly? You let him walk out of there! You're the reason it happened! You're the reason they were killed!"

The Ministry employee, who had been about to summon security, now sat paralyzed in fear. He managed to squeak,

"Do you want to talk to the head of my department?"

"No! I've heard enough!" said Ron. He stormed out. The ministry employee sagged in his chair, withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his forehead with it. It hadn't been one of his better days.

Ron made sure to slam as many doors as possible, on his way out of the ministry.

Of all the people who could have borrowed it, it had to be them, he thought, as he stared up at the manor. Of the seven Death Eaters arrested for the murder, only he had relatives alive and willing to help him, at least one of which was still a reasonably respected citizen. There seemed like there was nothing money couldn't buy for that family.

Of course, it had to be the Malfoys.

Convincing Narcissa to let him hear the testimony would probably not be very easy, but he had to give it a try. He had only one thing to say which might make her help him, but there was no way he could get her to trust him, was there?

He hesitated, staring up at her Cornwall residence. There was nothing for it.

Resigned, he shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the doorknocker. It immediately tried to bite him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. When he let go of it, it started yowling in a most bloodcurdling manner. There was a sound of rushing footsteps, and the door was flung open by a small, frightened house elf. Shaking all over, she bowed, and indicated for him to come in.

The minute he stepped inside however, all of the portraits, and there were quite a few, screeched,

"BLOOD TRAITOR! DON'T YOU DARE CONTAMINATE THIS HOUSE! BE GONE, FILTH!"

The carpet started knotting itself around his legs. A heavy anvil fell from the roof, and would have hit him squarely on the head if he hadn't lost his balance and toppled over.

The house elf shrieked and ran for it. Ron tried to get up, but dropped to the floor again when several rusty knives detached themselves from the wall and sped towards him, embedding themselves in the wood of the door behind him.

He had just noted that the big cactus in the corner was starting to look menacing, when he heard a slow, deliberate tread of feet, and a woman's voice, saying,

"Leave it alone, please."

Ron looked up at Narcissa Malfoy. She seemed rather amused at his predicament. Finally, when the carpet had ceased trying to strangle him, he got to his feet and dusted himself off.

"Well?" said Narcissa. "What do you want?"

"I'm here about the testimony," he said, having beforehand decided that it would be best to be as blunt as possible.

"What about it?"

"I need to hear it."

"Really."

"Yes – please, could I just-"

"Get out."

"If you would-"

"Now."

Ron bit his tongue. If he was going to get any results, he would have to keep his temper in check, but he could feel his control slipping inch by inch.

"Look," he said finally. "If I could listen to it, I might be able to help you."

"Don't make me laugh," said Narcissa coldly. "What could possibly cause you to think I would want help from a blood traitor?"

"There is something wrong with the story," said Ron patiently. "It didn't happen the way people think."

"And how do you know that?"

"It's just a hunch, but-"

"Get. Out. Of. My. House."

"If-I'm-right-your-husband-could-get-off," he said very quickly, while dodging an unpleasant-looking hex.

Narcissa paused.

"What do you mean?"

"Just that maybe he didn't really kill them. Let me listen to it, okay? What harm could it do?"

"Quite true," said an unpleasantly silky voice. From a room to the right of Ron emerged a tall, thin, long-nosed slack-mouthed man with dull, droopy eyes. With his neat clothes and carefully trimmed mousy hair, he had the unmistakable air of a lawyer about him.

He turned to Narcissa and spoke so low that Ron could barely hear him.

"Mrs Malfoy," he said, "I would advise you to let this rude young man listen to the recording. There is nothing in it that isn't already being used against your husband in the prosecution. And remember, you are only given the testimony conditionally and…" The rest of it, Ron was unable to hear.

What the man told her did not seem to make Narcissa any happier, but she said, curtly,

"I will fetch it. Sooty here will show you the portrait gallery while you wait."

The house elf who had opened the door for him came creeping out from behind a statue of an ancestor.

Ron followed her into a narrow corridor. In spite of what had happened to him in the hallway, he would have much preferred to stay where he was, if it hadn't been for the rather creepy lawyer who had remained there.

The walls were hung with rows upon rows of portraits, all featuring members of the Malfoy family. The further down the corridor they went, the older the paintings became. Sooty didn't say anything, and seemed to be studiously ignoring him. After a while, Ron broke the silence.

"This place doesn't look very lived in," he remarked, having noticed the layer of dust that covered everything, and in particular,the big cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

Sooty sniffed.

"Mistress only just moved in two weeks ago, sir," she said indignantly. "No family is living here for hundreds of years. What does he expect?"

"Sorry," Ron muttered, and went back to examining the portraits. He was fascinated to discover that the Malfoys had been blond for merely a hundred years. Portraits dated older than the 1870s showed men and women whose hair was brown with a reddish tinge. They all wore the same expression of angry disgust as they gazed at him however; the same look he had grown used to getting from living members of the family. Some portraits hissed as he passed them. One of them raised an eyebrow at him and said, "tsk!". Ron stopped and stared up at it. It grinned at him, baring its teeth.

Ron only had a second to wonder about the sharpness of said teeth, before something small barrelled into him, knocking him into the wall. The portrait, shaken loose, came crashing down upon his head, which as a result felt almost as if it had been cracked open. Seeing only stars, hearing only the house elf screaming apologies, Ron got to his feet and picked up the rather heavy painting. The house elf started banging his head against the wall. Sooty added to the racket by yelling at the elf,

"Stop it Tatty, you shall not punish yourself! He is not a proper wizard! Stop it! Stop!"

Ron, in the mean time, had just noticed something slightly odd about the portrait. On the back of it was written the word,

"Puniceus?" He whispered it under his breath.

As he did, he heard a grating noise behind him. He turned around, to see the wall where the painting had hung disappear, revealing a small niche. There were a number of odd objects lying in there. He had time to register a large iron claw, an oddly shaped rock, a very dusty golden goblet, the hilt of an ancient sword, a time-turner, an empty potions bottle and a wristwatch… And then the wall closed itself.

Tatty collapsed against it, exhausted. Sooty helped him to his feet, glaring at Ron as if it was he who had been smashing the elf's head. Ron hung up the portrait, which had been humming Christmas carols all the while.

"Mistress says," Tatty gasped, "that you is to come to her now!"

Ron nodded. Sooty led Tatty away, and Ron walked quickly back the way he had come, afraid of what the corridor might do to him if he was left alone in it.

Narcissa stood rigidly in the hallway, clutching what looked like a small glass ball, similar to those he had seen in the hall of prophecy a few years before.

"Come," she said, and she turned around and walked off. Not really believing his luck, Ron followed her into a sitting room. It did not seem to be designed for more welcome guests, as it was furnished only with a few hard chairs and a tiny table. More of the ugly paintings adorned the walls, and the people they depicted glared as he sat down. Without looking at him, Narcissa set the crystal ball on the table, and tapped it with her wand, muttering, "Narrio!" The ball began to glow bright blue.

Then she too sat down, her eyes firmly fixed on the ball. Ron peered at it as well. After a moment, it started speaking.

"State your name and occupation, please?" said a female voice.

"James Jones, Fisherman, ma'am," said a man's voice.

"Mr Jones, could you please tell us what exactly you saw on the night of the 6th of October?"

Ron held his breath, as Mr Jones began to talk.

"I was walking home from Hilda's pub a good way outside of town, 'round one o'clock in the morning, and thought I'd take a stroll along the cliffs. I know it might not have been the brightest idea, but I wasn't really thinking straight at the time. Anyway, it was a beautiful night. The moon was shining real bright, so I could see pretty well where I was going. Well, it wasn't long before I started hearing raised voices. I thought at first it was just a group of kids out having a good time, but as I started getting closer to where they were, I realized the voices were really angry – though angry doesn't quite describe it, if you know what I mean. I thought something bad was about to happen, and considered turning back, but then there were these lights, and I noticed the large shrub. It's the only shrub you'll see on that cliff, mind, and I thought it was the perfect place to hide and get a good look at what was going on.

"I crept up behind it as quietly as I could, and the people didn't notice me at all. I could hear every word they were saying, and it just got stranger and stranger. They were screaming all sorts of things about some 'dark lord'. I thought they must be crazy or drunk or both. And there were these two people standing right close to the cliff's edge. One of them was saying stuff about 'it being over' and that there was no point. I didn't quite understand it – still don't. They were wearing real funny clothes, the two of them were, almost medieval-looking."

"And what were these two doing?" said the woman.

"Well, the girl was standing right up close to the young man, fiddling with something, and didn't seem to be paying too much attention to what was happening around her. The young man, he was holding this stick, and brandishing it while yelling all sorts of odd things at the others. I swear there was light coming out of the stick. I don't know what it was - couldn't see it properly – might have been a ray gun, I don't know. Have they invented them yet?"

"Stay on the subject, please," said the witch crisply. "Tell me about the other people."

"Right. Well, there were seven of them, all men by the looks of it, and all wearing these dark cloaks. There was one standing in front of the others, like a leader of sorts I suppose. He had whitish hair, long, too, and he was doing most of the yelling. Finally, he said something about there being no escape this time, and he sort of stepped back. The others spread out in a half circle around the other two, and I could tell it was about to get right ugly. There was nothing I could have done, and I would have rather left, but I just couldn't look away, you know? Well, they were all holding out their sticks and yelling the oddest things, shooting these bright lights, but the young man seemed be deflecting them somehow. Then the young woman sort of doubled up, and he turned around to look at her. He said something, she said something and then at least four of the men shot those weird lights at them. Took them right by surprise they did. Now, I know you won't believe me when I say this-"

There was a gulping sound, as if the man had taken a swig of some drink.

"- but they rose into the air. It all happened real quick. They flew into the air, and it was as if something had slung them backwards. They made a sort of arc, and then fell. Right over the edge. Never even screamed. And that is when I knew I was hallucinating. I'm telling you ma'am, I ain't never going back to that pub again. There must have been some funny stuff in my drink."

"Indeed," said the witch. "Can you tell me if any of those lights were green, and if so, whose light it was?"

There was silence for a moment, as Mr Jones was thinking. Ron clenched his fists nervously.

"Nah, I can't remember that," said Mr Jones finally. "Why?"

"No reason. But please, Mr Jones, can you tell me if you saw any of the men's faces clearly?"

"I certainly did, ma'am. After the two had dropped off the cliff, the others just turned around and walked back down, as cool as anything, without even looking over the edge to see what happened to the poor kids. As it was, they walked right by the shrub where I was sitting, and I was afraid they'd find me, but they were too preoccupied I suppose."

"Very well then. If you would look at these pictures, please, and tell me if you recognise…"

"Yes, that's them alright," said the man quickly. "And him… what's his name…"

"Lucius Malfoy," supplied the witch.

"He was the leader."

Narcissa hissed.

"Yes, he was one of those that did fling the kids off the cliff."

"I see. Well, thank you Mr Jones. If you would just wait one minute-"

"Hang on. You've got one of them sticks as well! Are you a hallucination? What are you doing? Don't wave that thing at me!"

There was a faint popping noise as the ball stopped glowing.

Ron sat still for a moment, unsure of what to think. Several emotions were writhing around inside him, battling for control. Anger towards Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters, horror at hearing the details of the murder, grief as the barely healed wound reopened once again… disappointment, because it seemed to him that there was nothing at all amiss in the story. It had happened exactly as it had been described in the Prophet.

"Well?" said Narcissa. "Did you find anything out?"

Ron looked up.

"I'll let you know," he said, the chill in his voice matching hers.

"Don't bother. The front door is that way."

Just as he was leaving the room, he heard one of the portraits saying,

"Narcissa, I can not for the life of me understand why you keep letting them into the house."

"What do you mean?" said Narcissa.

"A Weasley in Malfoy manor. As if it wasn't enough with that good-for-nothing traitor son of yours, who you keep sending letters to, who you refuse to remove from the family tree!"

"My son is not a traitor!"

"He betrayed the Dark Lord!" the portrait yelled. "He ran instead of giving his life for the cause! If I had been alive today, if it were up to me, I would have disowned you both!"

"How dare you!" Narcissa screamed. "Incendio!"

Ron could hear the merry crackle of burning canvas, and the shrieks of the unfortunate portrait. He quickly made his way out of the house, dodging another ill-aimed hex from its infuriated mistress.

He walked back towards the cliff, wanting to take one last look at it before he gave up on the issue forever.

Besides, he couldn't just apparate back home. He had too much on his mind.

Walking along the edge, looking down at the waves lapping serenely at the shore, he mentally replayed the recording of the testimony.

The pieces were there, and though he didn't know what they meant, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was missing, despite all the evidence to the contrary. He stopped, staring out at the waves, bits and pieces of what the man had said chasing each other round and round inside his head.

'Round one o'clock in the morning…

I thought at first it was just a group of kids…

Something bad was about to happen…

There were these lights…

Two people standing right close to the cliff's edge…

The girl was standing right up close to the young man… (Just how close? he wondered).

Fiddling with something… (Fiddling with what? Why hadn't Hermione also drawn her wand?)

They were wearing real funny clothes… (Just their robes, or had they been wearing their costumes?)

They flew into the air… made a sort of arc… Never even screamed… Ron supposed they might have been stunned, or dead, even. Had any of those four spells been the Avada Kedavra? He wished, futilely, that Mr Jones' memory had been more exact.

The bits of the puzzle circled, teasing, staying just out of reach while letting him know that they were there.

If Harry and Hermione had been here, they would have figured it out, he thought. Harry would have noticed immediately which tiny details were the most important. Hermione would have been able to piece them together, and come up with a logical conclusion. Why couldn't one of them have survived instead?

Frowning, he kept on staring at the calm sea for a while longer, but nothing happened. Could they have been wearing their costumes? They wouldn't have been wearing robes so near to the muggle village, would they? And in the middle of the night? Round one o'clock was it the man had said?

Well, there was no use standing there getting cold. He'd apparate back home and cook up something edible. Feeling very depressed, Ron turned on the spot, and with a pop! he was gone.

However, a few minutes later he reappeared. He gazed at the shrub Mr Jones had been hiding behind, but couldn't really see it. All he could see were the pieces that were finally falling into place. Of course. Why hadn't he realized it before?

Perhaps he wouldn't go home just yet. He wanted to make sure he was right before he told Ginny about it. He would have lunch in the village that day.